


For Goddess and Country

by Kalash93



Category: My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Genre: Anthro, Assassination, Blood, Drama, Gore, Graphic Description of Corpses, Graphic Violence, Loss of Innocence, Military, Murder, Psychological Trauma, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:41:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24843979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalash93/pseuds/Kalash93
Summary: Shining Armor goes on his first mission to punish the enemies of her majesty, the sun goddess, Princess Celestia. He doesn't like it. Not one bit.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	For Goddess and Country

The corridor was just like any other in a moderately upscale hotel. Four figures walked quietly along the hallway, looking dead ahead, saying nothing, not even daring to step heavily. They walked in lockstep like mechanical devices, more like windup drones than living, breathing individuals. They all wore the same thing, a charcoal grey-black suit, black shoes, and white button shirts. The leader at the head of them darted his eyes back and forth, taking note of the room numbers as she passed them.

The first two walked to the far side of a door and halted, the leader holding up a fist, prompting the last two to stop.

The first and last looked around, and upon having seen nobody else in view, they gave a thumbs up. The second in the stack listened intently, pressing his ear up against the door. Then he deftly knelt to the floor to look under the threshold. He stood back up. “Light,” he whispered. “Noise, too; she’s watching some shitty sitcom.”

“Is she sleeping?” the leader asked.

“I don’t know, ma’am.”

A second later, a brief burst of real, not canned laughter, dispelled the doubts.

The leader said, “Can’t argue with that.” A couple chuckles. Nobody’s smiles reached their cheeks. One of them, a weedy male young enough to be mistaken for a child looked like he was going to crush his teeth with how hard he was clenching his jaw. “Relax, Private Armor.”

He stood up straight instantly, turning about face to answer. “Yes, ma’am.” he said in that stark, clipped way they taught royal guards in training. He still had that awful flat top soup bowl haircut. He went immediately into parade rest. He stared forwards, instead digging into his wrist hard enough with his nails to make marks.

The leader gave a grim smile. “Excellent bearing. Are you ready to complete the objective, Private Armor?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Do you love your country?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“What will you do for your country?”

“Whatever is asked of me, ma’am.”

“How dear is the command of our princess?”

“Dearer than the cries of my sons, the kisses of my lovers, the words of my mother, and the blood of my father, ma’am.”

The officer pointed to the door. “Good, Private Armor. And what of those who threaten our princess and her peace?”

“They shall know her wrath, ma’am.”

“Assuredly they shall, Private Armor.” She ignored his eyes dancing around his skull, darting back and forth along the hallway. She surveyed him up and down like an x-ray scanner. She ordered him, “Dagger.”

The nubile stallion drew a long blade shaped like an isosocles triangle from a hidden sheath. “For Celestia,” he said.

The officer gestured at the door. “Breach and kill.”

Shining Armor buck kicked the door with everything he had in his right leg.

Hoof met door. The latch gave way.

He was in immediately, not even believing his own speed.

There was his victim, nearly nude on the bed, her legs spread as she boredly was watching the TV. In a split second, he reacted, first acting to hide her private parts. Shining Armor saw pure fear in her eyes. He lowered his gaze to her chest and sprinted forwards, keeping his dagger held low at his side. He crossed the room in a second like a bolt of lightning.

He heard the team follow him with eager eyes and they shut the door, locking it.

The thestral’s leathery wings burst open in an instinctual display associated with fear. Her mouth opened, but it was garbled. He saw her eyes track down to the cruel steel of his instrument. She lifted her hands in supplication, a quiet plea for mercy. There was a naked gold wedding bank on her hand. Before she could say anything, Shining Armor had leapt upon her, seizing her by the throat, throttling her. Eyes bulged wide, then bulged even wider as the unicorn rammed his knife up to the hilt into her lower thorax. Her face strained in a silent scream and he pushed against the unicorn’s chest.

Step one, pop her lungs to prevent vocalizations, complete.

The monster ignored her, instead stabbing her over and over. Shining felt some warmth come over his hand. The flesh and muscle yielded to the cruel steel, the nasty steel. As he punched in with his metal fang, his victim was breathing out, bleeding out.

The thestral gave a choke like a hose clogged by gurgling mud. She didn’t know it yet, but she was dead already.

Her heart pounded frantic. Shining felt it in his vice grip clamp on her throat, the vitality straining against his uncaring fingers. He was going to squeeze, squeeze, and squeeze until he felt the life leave and the body go cold as his dagger. Shining’s fingers slipped with his victim’s struggling and sweat. Just a tiny slip, but it was enough for the scream to go from silent to searing.

He plunged his full weight onto the throat, throttling the screams again as they fell to the floor.

Wet flecks hit his face. The thestral choked and sputtered.

Shining didn’t stop. He kept stabbing and stabbing and stabbing.

His instructors had warned him. Some ponies just did not want to die. This one did not want to die. The blood vessels had been broken, the lungs were shredded, he had opened her guts and made mince of liver, but still she did not die.

The impact on the ground hurt his fingers. His grip slipped. The chest inflated against his knife. The eyes bulged again in agony, shock, and horror. Tears and snot were running like snowmelt. The air of life entered the shredded chest.

She tried to flee. She wasn't strong, wasn't a mare of war. But with the slickness of the blood, she barely slipped his grip.

The victim tried to get away with a burst of speed from his wings, dashing to door, unaware she was an animal in the metzgerei. The murderer’s hand seized the wing bone and clamped shut. The dagger slashed upwards, tearing the thing membrane. A second strike came down, landing right on the joint. CRACK! One wing was broken, its owner try to sceam in pain, trying to flap it but to no avail. He seized the struggling thestral’s other wing with broke hands. He pulled with one hand and twisted with the other. The joint gave way and his stomach lurched as something popped, contorting sickly. It had been in effect ripped off.

But Shining wasn’t done. He hurled her onto the bed and jumped between her legs.

He brought flipped his grip and drove the dagger forwards. The cruel steel was hungry. The prey was squirming.

She held up her hands again. The spike easily perforated the appendage and crached through into her eye, then into her brain.

She didn't even try to scream.

She was dead.

The chest stopped heaving, and a mat of dark red soaked the bedspread. He felt the hot blood staining through his clothes, soaking into his skin, making it stick to him.

He took the sharp edge of the dagger and stabbed the corpse in the neck. He dug deeply and sawed. And sawed. And sawed. The tendons fought back, and he felt them creak and groan like old tortured hemp rope. He felt the bones of her spine scrape against the steel edge. He pulled out and pulled hard, but it held. Something else fould spilled out. Piss, the cadaver was leaking urine all over him. 

He got off the slaughtered meat and flipped it over with his foot. He knelt forwards, hit stomach’s content spilling outwards. Acid scolded his tongue.

Like a true hero.

He felt the judgement of his comrades. A kill well made, but he was weak and inept. She had lasted at least the better part of a minute, and nearly gotten free once.

The victim didn’t look like a pony, more like one of those frogs they had to dissect back in school. It was more gaping wounds and viscera than intact flesh. Shining had lost track of how many times he had stabbed. It had been time after time. He didn’t dare count now.

The victim’s torso was home to innumerable stab wounds. It was horrific beyond his expectations. He had seen images in training of the recipients of their craft. He had seen films of operatives in the murder. He had slain so many times in simulation. But… But… But… that hadn’t been… real… Seeing it himself, done for real by his own hands was so different. He saw muscles under the skin. He saw white fat smeared and yanked outside the skin. He smelled the bile and shit stench of intestines torn open. Her breasts looked like torn sacks of pink butter. He felt a stab of pity for the coroner.

He looked into the eyes. They were glassy, unfocused forever until the worms ate them. The tongue was hanging out from between the lips he’d slashed up bad. He could see it lower down through the gash in the throat. All those sights, decades of life, to expire staring six inches from a faux wood cabinet in a hotel room while clogged with tears.

She probably had died praying to Celestia for mercy, the goddess whose signature Shining Armor had seen on the death warrant just hours before with the ink still wet.

He looked down and saw a pale line disrupting her lower abdomen. A scar between her navel and pubis. Ghostly stretch marks on her belly and hips and breasts.

He put away his dagger.

Shining gripped it hard and sucked in air. He winced, screwed his eyes shut, then yanked up and to the side with his legs and shoulders. He fired a sliver of magic between the top vertebra.

There was a crack that made him taste bile and acid in his tongue. He shut his eyes and tried not to retch.

He dropped the head like a burning hot stone and it fell at an unnatural angle. He looked at his specimen before him. Laying in a pool of blood, piss, bile, snot and tears…

Dead. Definitely dead.

Good fucking job.

He produced a small camera from the soaked pocket of his suit jacket. He took a picture, capturing the whole thing. He hoped whoever looked at it too would buckle over and expel their last meal.

And that was it. He stood up straight, readjusted his suit, and turned around. He checked his bearing. He told the officer, “Target eliminated, ma’am. Long reign Celestia.”

“Good job, Private Armor. May you slay a thousand more.”

He saluted.

He felt proud.

He wanted to scream.

She knew he did.

She held no compassion.

None of them did.

He wished he didn't.

=======888888=======

Shining Armor was there on firewatch. He was guarding his barracks. He was hungry; hours until the mess hall opened. He got off just in time for reveille, then PT, then finally breakfast. It had started in the days back when things were made of wood and they had stores of highly inflammable black powder and all illumination was by fire. In these days of stonecrete construction, electric lights, and nitrocelulose propellants, it was mostly to make sure no shady shit went down, and to make sure discipline was maintained while in garrison. Some other services had done away with this for a duty desk and some poor guy stuck on shift all day or night, but in the Royal Operations Concern, they still stuck to the old way. Firewatch had been weirdly enough his favorite thing back during basic training. It was the only time he got anything resembling solitude or quiet. Sure, he was tired and would be getting less sleep, but it was worth it for the hour or two not in a mob of other guys, and for the possibility of being awake without being growled at by their Formation Masters.

He could not say he was enjoying it now. He wished to be asleep, to have his brain turned off for some hours. Instead, he was pacing back and forth uneasily, drilling rifle to himself and calling out the commands in his head. Attention! Shoulder arms! Right port arms! Left face! Present arms! Left port arms! Right port arms! Mark time! Forward march! Halt! Inspect arms! Secure arms!

Moving was easier than sitting still. Movement meant he was too preoccupied to think.

He heard something, a door opening at the end of the barracks. He about faced and marched up to it with his rifle held at right port, stock in his right hand. He saw who it was and halted. "Good evening, ma'am!" he puffed out in cadence, giving a rifle salute and then standing at attention.

She returning the salute, saying, "Good evening, Private armor." She did not tell him at ease. He had to stand there as long as she made him. And so he stood at attention for what felt like ages. He did not twitch or cough, nor smile or shake, nor complain or falter. He stood there like a statue of a stallion. She stood still, inspecting his poise, watching him, investigating his uniform and bearing. The quiet rang in his ears. He started counting breaths. He reached one hundred, then two, then three. She belted, "Order... arms!" He complied. "Port... arms!" He complied. Left shoulder... arms!" He complied. "Present... arms!" He complied. Inspect... arms!" He complied. "Secure... arms!" He complied. "Order... arms!" He complied. "Uncover... two!" He reached up to remove his hat. His hand met empty air for a second, and then he completed the motion. "Parade rest!" Shining spread his feet and let the rifle lean forward.

He saw the glint in the captain's eye. She was going to grill him, perhaps smoke. Surely she began, "Private Armor, your military bearing depends upon executing commands precisely as instructed when instructed in the manner instructed. Do you understand?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Did you remove your cover as instructed when instructed in the manner instructed upon my command?"

"No, ma'am, bu-"

"No excuses, private! Excuses are unmilitary! You do or you do not! We do not make excuses in the guard, let alone in her majesty's ROC! We have yes, no, and report. A guard does not whine or wheedle. Excuses do not matter and nobody will care." She got up in his face. "You did not have a cover, but you should have obeyed the order as given anyway as if you had!"

"Yes, ma'am!"

She ordered, "Now, attention!" He snapped to attention. "Uncover... two!" Shining Armor reached up and made the motion to grab his hat by the brim and remove it from his head. "Cover... two!" Shining armor did the practiced motion of returning his hat to his head. "At ease." He stood easy. "Better, Private Armor, but it should have never been a problem to begin with. Work on it."

"Yes, thank you, ma'am."

The captain relaxed to match his body language. She studied his face. "Was today your first time operating for real, Private Armor?"

"Yes, ma'am."

She sighed, "I suspected as such. I could see it in your eyes when you went in."

"How so, ma'am?" he asked.

She caught him. "That's it! The kill did not last more than twenty-two seconds, I timed with a stopwatch, but you took a long time to take the head and confirm. By chance, Private Armor, did you find it distasteful to murder a half naked civilian female noncombatant in her hotel room?"

"No, ma'am, not by Celestia's command."

The captain said, "You did. You inspected the body, did you not? You wanted to see what you had done?"

He faltered, sputtering out, "Yes, ma'am."

She nodded. "That is normal, Private Armor. Do not do it again."

"Ma'am, why?"

"It will not help you, Private Armor. You think you can make yourself okay with it by finding it justifiable, by seeing something on them that tells you they deserved to die. Maybe they have a tattoo on their chest that reads Evil McBadhoof. Maybe you're hoping to see a Cult of Nightmare Moon ritual scar. Maybe you're just hoping they're ugly."

"No, ma'am."

She continued, ignoring him, "You are searching for something to make bloodshed palatable. You are hoping for something to explain it, make it justified. You want to imagine yourself as the good guy, a hero, do you not, Private Armor?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Stop it. Put it out of your mind. You will only become a hero at the grace of her majesty. Tell me, Private Armor, why did you join?"

"To protect Equestria and her princess from her enemies, ma'am."

The captain nodded in understanding. "I see, Private. I was an idealist like you once. I thought I would be fighting insurrectionists, dragons, monsters, and more. When I first went on operation, I did not think I would be killing an old stallion in his garden with his grandkids watching. I was troubled by that for a long time."

"My condolences, ma'am."

"Don't. Regardless, the years since then have only brought bloodshed and very little of it heroic. Killing is not a heroic deed. Killing is ugly. Killing is messy. Killing is horror. The sooner you accept that and just do your duty, the better for all involved."

"Yes, ma'am. Why did she have to die? What about her family?"

"I don't know. All I was given was a signed warrant and a command to get it done. We don't need to know, so we don't get to it. Does it matter? Would it help? You think me harsh, but this is the most merciful thing I can do for you, Private Armor. Stop asking for explanations. You aren't going to get any and they don't matter. What matters are your orders and objectives. The guard does not care about your feelings. Do or leave. You are not owed an explanation and you won't get one; you are not important enough, and even if you were, you would rarely like the few you got. If you're going to worry about if you're doing right or wrong, you're wasting your time. How you feel about something does not matter. What matters is that you did your duty and protected your country, understood?"

"Yes, ma'am." He felt pressure behind his eyes.

"Good. One final thing, Private Armor, we all have moments like this. I didn't like what I had you do today, nor did the other two with me, but we did it. Polish and maintain your military bearing. No matter what else, you can never be a good soldier without a strong military bearing. That is what makes us unique, that we can restrain ourselves no matter the turmoil or pressure. Work on that bearing, Private Armor, it will let you be who you must be to do what you must, even if you wish with all your heart otherwise."

"Yes, ma'am," he said.

"Good." She hardened and commanded, "Attention!" He complied. "Port arms! Left shoulder arms! Right shoulder arms! Present arms! Hold from now until reveille." And with that, the captain walked away, leaving Shining Armor bound there. "For goddess and country."


End file.
